The end of the year. Surprising how much importance we attach to it. It’s just a day. In a long line of days. On a planet that is billions of years old. I can’t even give a number that makes sense as to how many days have passed. Too many zeros. Its incomprehensible. But here it is. And tomorrow is a new year. One thing I know. It won’t be like the previous year. It never is. Thankfully.

I say that even though the year just ending was a good year for me. I finished my walk through the valley of the shadow of death and came out the other side. There was light. There was music. There was love. There was food. There was laughter. There were children. There was still pain. There always is. But mine was ameliorated. Softened. The edges rounded. Ground by time and love like the hills that were once mountains. Makes it easier to carry. Now it’s a thing I tote.

Tomorrow I’m on to a new year. Who knows what it will bring. It’s best just to keep the mind open and, to throw in a sailing metaphor, be ready to tack when the wind changes, because the wind will change. It always does. And you can’t take it personally. You just have to bend and go in the new direction until you find a way back on track to wherever it is you’re going, or want to go, if you want to go anywhere at all. Because sometimes it’s nice, to quote the song of a friend, to just be.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale